


bird of paradise

by dewshi



Series: mountain dew commercials, disguised as love poems [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anxiety, Being an Adult and Working Through Your Emotional Problems Together, Depression, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Sburb (Homestuck), mutual supportiveness, that's. that's what this one is about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27786073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dewshi/pseuds/dewshi
Summary: They said this would be paradise. But you've been wondering recently... what exactly does paradise mean?
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Series: mountain dew commercials, disguised as love poems [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1854733
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	bird of paradise

Paradise. Paradise is what you were promised. Or was it?

Is it paradise that you're looking at right now, standing in the sunroom, wrapped in a blanket with a hot mug of tea in your hand? Is it paradise, that place with the gray clouds and drizzling rain and your bare feet getting cold on the planks of the wooden floor?

It doesn't feel like paradise. Feels like… life. Weird life, where days pass by and you've stopped being able to keep count of them.

You're not that busy anymore, most days.

Most of the paperwork you deal with, nowadays, is pretty simple. So simple that you can get through it with a single name signed on the line or a single letter slipped into the mail. There's just… such a bureaucracy now, as much as you tried to stop that from happening.

And you did, you really fucking did. You spent years trying to devise systems that were direct, safe and simple. Where people could be in and out and they wouldn't need to get bogged down in months of paperwork. But you couldn't. Because you… can't do things alone. And more people means more information means more paperwork.

It gives you time to write, you guess. You're never aiming to get published or noticed. Your stories and poetry are just ways to get down the things that crop up in your head every day. You don't have any other way to get them out. And you write romance, too.

That's still kind of getting out the feelings. Just… good feelings, instead of bad. The feelings that Dave makes you feel.

You take a long sip of tea and feel it slightly burn your tongue. He's not at home right now. He's a lot busier than you, no matter how hard you've tried to weasel your way into the important godly things. You guess it's him, not you, who's god tier. His game who made this so-called paradise.

You're not jealous. You're just… bored. You feel like some fucking queen, prancing around your house with a knitted quilt on your shoulders. Sitting and reading and watching TV and cooking. It's fucking boring. You're bored.

You're so, so bored.

You walk back inside and curl up on the couch. The only real reprieve is when Dave is home and he can snuggle up to you and make you laugh. But you've gotten the feeling that he knows something's wrong. You drape the quilt over your feet.

Being bored makes you think. The more bored you are, the more you think. And the more you think, the more you remember all of the things you've ever done wrong and the more you feel worthless and alone. And the more you hate your goddamn self. You couldn't make a difference here. Paradise, they called it.

Shopping channel is on. You let it drone. Do you need a new vacuum cleaner? You don't think so. The old one works fine. You used it two days ago. And three days before that.

You pull your phone out.

carcinoGeneticist  [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG].

CG: WHEN ARE YOU COMING HOME?  
CG: IF YOU WANT TO DO SOMETHING TONIGHT, LET ME KNOW.  
CG: I THINK WE COULD GO OUT, MAYBE. IF YOU FEEL UP TO IT.

You put your phone down. You don't expect him to respond. Always flying from here to there and showing his face at this and that event. There are so many fucking events around this fucking planet.

...You feel like such a kid, texting him in the middle of the day and three times in a row, too. Like a wiggler in house arrest, pestering his lusus for something to do. Useless. Useless, useless. Meaningless existence.

Your phone buzzes as you rest your head on the throw pillows.

TG: ill be home soon  
TG: probably like an hour maybe even less  
TG: its just this one grand opening thing and i already told the others i cant do anything else even if something pops up today  
TG: been missin you all day  
TG: ill stop by the store just wanna stay home tonight but i think we could watch a movie  
TG: you can pick it and ill bring popcorn  
CG: I CAN GO TO THE STORE  
CG: YOU DON'T NEED TO WORRY ABOUT IT  
TG: you sure? its on the way  
CG: YES. I'M SURE.  
TG: aight  
CG: I MISS YOU TOO.  
TG: <3

Your heart blazes. Idiot.

CG: <3

carcinoGeneticist  [CG] ceased trolling turntechGodhead [TG].

You slip out of your quilt and pull on a sweater and a heavy raincoat. You, personally, don't think the orb-like silhouette this outfit gives you is very flattering, but Dave loves it. That makes you feel a little better.

You already checked the cabinets. You're running low on tea and Dave's mint-flavoured toothpaste. And you have to remember the popcorn, too. You think you'll get some chocolate buttons, too. Dave's not that big of a fan of chocolate, but you love it.

You head out to the store. You still get looks in public, from people who have seen your face on the news and in history class. You shoot pointed glares at anyone who stares too long.

There's a shelf of seasonal sweets. Carapace Remembrance Day is coming up, and they sell this weird candy split in two: a white half and a black half, each half a different flavour. One is sweeter, like white chocolate, and the other kind of like salted licorice. Dave loves it, but he always forgets to buy some. You grab some for him.

The rain starts to get harder while you walk home. You're regretting not bringing an umbrella. The water soaks into your sweater. At least it's water and not acid. You like not having to replace your wardrobe every rainy season.

You've had enough time to unpack the groceries and set up the TV when the door slams. Dave drags himself into the living room, dripping wet. It's almost storming outside, by now. His god tier outfit can clean itself of stains and dirt, but it can't dry itself. He looks exhausted, not seeming to be able to stand up straight.

"Hey," Dave says when he notices you, leaning his elbow against the kitchen counter in a way you think is meant to be seductive. You snort.

"What are you trying to do, woo me? You're soaked."

"I know." Dave removes and wipes off his shades, which look fogged up and have water droplets on them. "I'm also freezing."

"Go change," you say. "Leave that stuff in the ablutionblock and put a sweater or something on. I'll take care of your laundry."

"You're the best," he says and hops up the stairs to the second floor bathroom. You watch him go and don't follow until you hear the bedroom door close, signaling that he's done in the bathroom.

You go upstairs to hang up his god tier clothes to dry. It's such a complex outfit, layered and thick, and that cape - incredibly impractical. You try it. It's soaked through all over. Must have made flying that much tougher. And his undershirt is completely wet, too. You imagine it would have made him cold to the bone.

What an asshole you are. You think about it while hanging his clothes up. He has to go through all these hoops and jumps to entertain the masses. He's got all this work and responsibility to attend to that leaves him coming home trembling from the cold and exhausted. And what do you do all day? Sit at home and complain about boredom. Boredom. Entitled shit.

Dave's waiting for you outside the bathroom. He's wearing a thick gray sweatshirt and loose sweatpants. His shades are pushed up into his hair, and he's looking at you with this expression of… well, it's love, isn't it? It's love.

"You okay?" he asks gently. You grumble something about being fine and lean up to kiss him, lightly. Almost casually. He reciprocates so willingly that it makes all the muscles in your back and shoulders relax suddenly.

You stick the popcorn into the microwave. It lights up and begins to whirr in a familiar way.

"Did you pick a movie?" Dave asks from the couch. He's lying there languidly, like he's already half-asleep. He always nods off during movie night. You act offended when he does, but the feeling of him leaning on you, trusting you that much, is… rewarding.

"No," you say. "I haven't thought about it yet. Do you have a preference?"

"Mm, not really," Dave says. "I thought it'd be nice to watch something you wanted. Y'know, In Kahoots or Four Weddings and a Funeral or whatever you want."

"Alright," you say. "I'll pick something."

Once the popcorn's ready, you sit down besides Dave, and he instantly puts an arm around you. The popcorn bowl is warm. He grabs a handful of popcorn. You start going through Netflix on your phone.

Nothing seems interesting. Not even the movies you've watched 17 times and cried each time, or the shows you've debated for hours on forums, or the films you've been excited to watch since you found out about them. You keep scrolling, and nothing you see excites you.

"Find anything?" Dave says, face leaning against your hair, and places a kiss on your horn.

"Not anything other than the same old shit," you grumble and put your phone down. Even with Dave beside you, you can't shake this invasive feeling of…. wrongness. Meaninglessness. "Could you fucking pick, please?"

Dave stills. Slowly, his hand pushes into your hair. "Something's wrong."

"What?" you ask. When you turn, you find his face creased in worry, but he can't seem to get the words out at first.

"What's… are you okay?" he asks. That makes you stop. He looks almost desperate.

"I'm fine," you say. "I'm fine. I… I've been at home all day, and nothing's gone wrong. Why wouldn't I be fine? I haven't done anything that could make me not be fine!"

Dave keeps touching your hair. He looks stressed. "Tell me what's wrong. Please?"

You look him in the eyes. He looks so soft.

"I won't make fun of you."

"I know you won't," you grumble and sink your face into his neck. "It just feels stupid."

“Well, sure, but I just… I don’t- could you?" he asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I’ll try. Relax." You pull away, struggling to find the words. "I've been feeling… so fucking bored, all the time, recently. Y'know, like… there's nothing to do, nothing feels fun. I'm just alone and empty and nothing I do is important. No point to anything."

"...The shit?" Dave asks, softly. Ah, the shit. You and Dave's codeword for 'all that stuff that's too hard to name but is definitely there in your heads and keeps cropping up when problems arise.'

"...Yeah, I think. Maybe." You sigh. When you look back, he looks exhausted. It's like all the energy has been drained from him suddenly, and you feel a surge of anxiety. "I'm fine, though. I can deal with it. I always have, so, y'know… And it's not your responsibility, or anything…"

Dave sighs, cutting off your explanations, and just sinks into the sofa. Sinks into you. You almost cry from how tired he seems and how scared you are that you made it worse.

"Dave?" you ask, and he must hear the worry in your voice, because he perks up and pulls you closer. You breathe deeply. "I'm sorry if I-"

"You didn't do anything," he mumbles into your hair. "You're fine. You're fine. Fuck. I'm sorry. I'm just… so fucking tired."

"Did something happen when you were out today?" you ask, and every feeling of self-loathing you had earlier rushes back in. Here he is, having a bad day, and you can only think about yourself. Worse still, you're still just wallowing in self-hate when you should be focusing on him, aren't you?

"Not really," Dave mumbles. You move away and start combing through his hair, parting strands from each other with a gentle claw. His voice is barely above a whisper, like he's afraid to be heard. "It's just… weird to be in everyone's eyes like that. Y'know? I guess I should be used to it, but it's like… it's not me they're seeing. It's some weird god that looks like me but isn't me, y'know? And I don't like it."

You open your mouth but can't think of what to say, so you just nod and trace the pads of your fingers down his face.

"But they want me there," he says. "Almost need me there. 'Cos it's not all of the gods without the Knight of Time. And I'm that. I guess. Even though I didn't ask to be, or want to be. I kinda always thought that if I was ever famous, it'd be because I made something cool and not just because I happened to die once or twice."

"You did make something cool," you remind him. "You made the universe."

"But is that really what people like me for, though?" Dave asks. His face is full of such a strange, deep pain that it hurts you, too. "Or is it just because… they're scared of me, or think I'm… y'know, God?"

"...I don't know," you say. He sighs and relaxes into your touch. You press your lips against his forehead. "I love you, though. I love you, Dave."

Dave hums, deeply, and you feel the sound vibrate through him. You respond with a deep, gentle chuff. You hope he knows what it means. You think he does, because he holds his arms loosely around your waist and says, "I love you, too."

You can hear his smile. You stay there for a moment. Then he pushes you away very gently and looks in your eyes.

"Don't know what I'd do if you weren't here," he says and pushes your hair out of your face. "Apple of my eye. Fire of my loins."

"Start with this shit again, and I'll fling you out the window," you say, and he grins.

"You can try, but I can fly."

That makes you chortle. Dave's face lights up in a painfully gleeful grin. He's always been so proud of how he can make you laugh. Nobody's ever been able to make you laugh like Dave can. You shove him. "Shithead."

"Takes one to know one." He falls to the sofa and pulls you with him, and you kiss there for a few minutes. Then he looks at you a little more seriously. "Hey. About what you said."

"About what?" you ask, a little annoyed about the cessation of the kisses.

"About being bored and feeling… what was it? Like, meaningless?"

Your shoulders drop, just a little. "Yeah?"

"How, um…" Dave doesn't seem to know what to say, exactly. He looks around awkwardly for a moment, gathering his thoughts, and then says, "can I do something to help?"

You take a deep breath. And then another. "I don't know."

"...I," Dave says. "I… You know I… God."

"Sure am," you grumble. "Take your time."

"I want to help," he says. "I want to help. I want to do something and make it better. Y'know, to… say the magic nice words that make you feel better. I'm… I don't think I'm as good at that as you. Saying things to make it better."

"You want me to say something nice to myself to make myself feel better?" you ask.

"Yeah, that would be really helpful if you could, actually," Dave says, and you laugh into the crook of his shoulder.

"Dear present Karkat. Your boyfriend is a bulgesucking idiot, and you should dump him. Sincerely, past Karkat."

"Oh, god, no, not the fucking past and future Karkats again," Dave complains desperately, and you break down laughing again. "You hate those guys."

"Almost less than you do," you say and kiss him. That's nice.

"Kanaya? You think Kanaya, maybe?" Dave asks later, when you're sprawled on him on the couch. Any plans of a movie night have been long forgotten. He sometimes takes handfuls of the popcorn.

"She can't entertain me all day every day," you say, half-asleep. "She's busy at the caverns all the time."

Dave hums. "Your novel?"

"Oh, god, no. It'll never see the light of day, if I have anything to say about it."

"Hm. Hm, hm, hm." Dave munches on another handful of popcorn. "Well, we have to think of something. Maybe another hobby? Or… you think we should get a pet?"

"Like what?" you ask.

"A cat?"

"A cat."

"Yeah," Dave says. He turns to look in the eyes, hopeful. "Maybe."

You think and smile. "Maybe."

"Or start crocheting."

"Definitely not crocheting."

Dave laughs. It's a warm sound, much warmer than the weather outside. You realize then that paradise isn't a place, or a person, or even a feeling. It’s… it’s your fingers laced together, and the smell of popcorn, and the warmth of his lips on yours.

You're not sure what paradise is. But you do have it.


End file.
